


sharp edges

by lemonheadlester, writtennotsung



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Injuries, Minor Violence, Mutants, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-12 10:15:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16871074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemonheadlester/pseuds/lemonheadlester, https://archiveofourown.org/users/writtennotsung/pseuds/writtennotsung
Summary: Everyone is aware of the existence of mutants.They live no different than us, just with a secret. Most would agree they are harmless, but when a series of raids take place in order to hunt down all mutants, the humanity of these, people (or creatures) is called into question.





	sharp edges

**Author's Note:**

> This is our first fic for our writing blog! We hope you enjoy, and let us know what you think :)

**Dan**

 

“Hey guys!”

 

Even before the video connects I see the flood of comments and messages, the bursts of greetings and rapid-fire chats blurring by so quickly I hardly have time to read them. I watch the view count rise and see all the late arrivals who didn’t get the tweet notification, immediately slowing the YouNow connection just like they always do. The early show lag is present as always and I try for a smile when I finally see my face reflected back at me, seeing Phil do the same even as the count starts to amount to the usual number.

 

Acting natural has always been an art form of mine, a kind of thing I’d pride myself on normally if I didn’t always feel like I was living a lie. Not that it’s always a bad reason that I’m acting but I’ve put on a face many times in my life for different reasons of different kinds, Hiding my expression, my secrets, my fears.

_ Our fears _ I think automatically, my gaze going to Phil as that thought somehow manages to surface among the chaos. 

 

He’s putting on his own face right now and it reminds me of all the times I’ve admired him for it in the past, the way he can wipe his expression clean when he needs to whereas I tend to struggle when I’m feeling too much. People don’t give Phil enough credit for his composure, the steadiness his form exuberates present once again in this tense moment when I can see my hands shaking from below the view of my laptop webcam, out of the sight line of our webcam.

 

The  _ our  _ sticks in my mind. My brain has a tendency to automatically include him in my thoughts and our eyes meet briefly before he goes back to greeting the audience, the thousands of eyes that we’re escaping to for once. This broadcast doesn’t look like anything out of the ordinary, but the nerves in the pit of my chest say otherwise. This fear really is ours this time.

 

Phil shifts uncomfortably, eyes darting nervously towards the door. He's on edge, more so than usual. He declined my offer to cancel the liveshow for the day, and I will inevitably have to scroll through screenshot after screenshot, gif after gif of him and the captions analyzing our behaviour. It's something I've gotten used to by now, but it still concerns me. It’s strange, then, that right now that worry is about the last thing on my mind.

 

My heart is beating a little too hard to be comfortable, but it has nothing to do with the viewers. My eyes are fixed on the chat, trying to get my distracted eyes to focus on one thing, any message, I’d even take a strange or invasive one at this point. But it’s all blurring, racing by in a rush of grey and black as we sit here like two puppets, pretending it’s a normal day in our normal lives while heavy snow lashes the windows outside.

 

Oddly enough it’s not a premium message that finally manages to appear clearly. It’s just a random message, but it’s almost as if my body was waiting for it.

 

_ Why is it so dark in the lounge?  _ It asks.

 

Curious. Innocent. I don’t even mean to see it, but it makes my stomach drop.

 

Phil’s talking but I hear his voice falter, just for a second. To the viewers it will just be dismissed as an endearing word flub, but I know what it means.

 

He saw it too.

 

Just like everything else, the message is not really meaningful. It’s just another observation that something is different, the kind of question one of us tends to get even if we wear a new jumper let alone minutely alter our surroundings. It’s not strange for us to be in the lounge, it’s not strange to be doing a joint liveshow. Everything is the same as usual online, to anyone watching Dan and Phil are being completely normal.

 

But today has been far from normal.

 

Because I can see what the audience doesn’t see. The latch clicked shut on the front door, the curtains pulled tight over the windows even though the evening’s just begun. The lamp next to us casting light in here but not to the street in the hopes that it will look like nobody’s home. From the road outside our flat is dark. 

 

Because today was far from normal, and we don’t want to be seen.

 

We need to look like we’re not home.

 

It started earlier today, an ordinary day where I’d woken up to the usual sound of pouring cereal and animé playing in the distance. I see myself listening to sounds carrying into the lounge, getting out of bed at the healthy hour of 3 p.m. on a lazy Thursday. 

 

Once I make my way down the stairs I see Phil, sat on the sofa and unaware to my presence. I take the time to smile and appreciate how relaxed and nonchalant he looks, legs crossed and dressed in emoji pajamas, eyes staring at, but unfocused on the episode of the show we've watched so many time. We never watch new episodes without each other. We hardly do anything unless it's together.

 

I’d woken up in an oddly off mood today, but I feel a spark of cheerfulness at this notion, quietly pleased that he’s he’s not watching ahead without me just as always. Joke all we want about domestic traditions, I can’t help but smile when things like this remind me of them.

 

I make my way over to him subtly, sneaking up behind him and gently touching his shoulders, causing him to yelp and jump around to face me, eyes wide.

 

“Dan!” He whines. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.” 

 

I chuckle playfully and punch him lightly in the arm, climbing over the back of the sofa and plopping down next to him. He’s in his usual spot next to my sofa crease so I settle into it, pressing my shoulder against his just because I can.

 

“Which show do you want to continue?” I wonder as he hands me the remote, flipping through our options. 

 

He sighs, and that's when I notice something's off with him. His smile is gone and replaced with an expression of discomfort.

 

“Phil?” I call softly.

 

I turn over on my side and let my hand reach for him before I can think, my fingers mindlessly fiddling with the tears in the back of his shirt, the ones intentionally made there for him. He turns his back not to ignore me, but to give me better access and I welcome it, shifting to reach better.

 

I have a better view of his expression now and the worry dismisses slightly as his distress begins to make sense, smiling at him gently.

 

“They hurting today?” 

 

He nods. I rub my hand down his spine and pull him into a hug, carefully not to disturb the massive wings on his back.

 

They're two rather large swanlike wings attached at the upper back, folded down against his skin delicately.

 

They came in a few years after we met. Needless to say, they originally scared the living hell out of both of us. He had no way of knowing it was coming, it was likely his family might not have even been aware of it either. I vaguely remember complaints about muscle pains back in the early days of our friendship but it wasn’t something we could anticipate, it feels sometimes like they came out of nowhere.

 

One day they were just there. We had just moved in to our last London flat and it was a late morning for us. Phil had been the first to wake, I woke soon after following his horrified scream. It’s kind of surreal to look back on now, it seems like such a normal thing most days until we leave the house, something Phil can hardly do anymore unless it's cold and dark. 

 

After doing some research we learned that there are in fact people in this world living with mutations like this, many of them. They all live under anonymity, hiding for good reason. It scared us, but luckily hiding such a significant thing is easier than it looks. There’s multiple reasons to hide them but as people of the internet it’s become twice as important. Anyone could see with just the slightest of slip-ups. 

 

He's learned to live with and hide his wings, although the more they grow the more we have to change from what he wears to when he can be seen in public. Sometimes he'll get random episodes of unexplainable pain, probably from the wings growing and putting stress on his body. 

 

For me, they’re something beautiful. White, curved with silky-smooth feathers that on less painful days I always want to run my fingers through, although standard to Phil there’s certain sections I have to avoid because apparently they’re ticklish. It’s not first nature for me to refer to my best friend as a  _ mutant  _ but by government definition he is, though I don’t think his genetics could have picked something more aesthetic if they’d tried. 

 

We like to look back on their appearance nowadays and joke about how after the initial reaction, my response had been fairly calm compared to what most people would have expected. Of course it had been a shock and a half at first but it’s hard to stay freaked out when the thing appearing looks so cool, especially since we didn’t know then just how dangerous their appearance was.

 

Right now, they’re tucked away. I guess he hadn't bothered to pull them through the holes in his shirt. He tends to get sore when he has them folded beneath his clothes for a long time, especially since most places we occupy tend to be too close-quarters when the opportunity arises to open them.

 

I let my finger trail down to one of the rips, gently feeling the softness of one wing without putting too much pressure on it. 

 

“I’m offended by how beautiful these are.” I say without thinking, finding the arch and stroking along the longer feathers. I feel his shoulders relax in a silent message that he appreciates the touch, though he chuckles at my comment. 

 

He’d sooner see me burn my laptop than hear me admit it but they suit him, the light wings framing his form so well, white against his pale skin in perfect contrast. These are the thoughts that stay confined to my mind but he barely even seems to register what I’ve said. It’s not very unusual to live with a normal person who is constantly fascinated by the pretty things that make him unique, and well, rather beautiful. 

 

Not that Phil needs much help with that.

 

“I’m offended by the fact that they can’t deal with being put away once in a while.” He groans, shifting them so that they flutter slightly before retreating back to stillness under his  _ Nyan  _ T-shirt.  __

 

“You can let them out, you know.” I coax, gently tugging one so that it's poking out. “It’s just me.”

 

“I'm not ashamed, if that's what you're thinking.” He says, shrugging. “I'm just tired of them being in the way all the time.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“They were out the other day and I turned too abruptly, accidentally knocked over my glass.”

 

I can tell by the way he says it that he’s imagining the same thing happening in a public place, the same anxiety we always come back to when it comes to my clumsy best friend. I nod.

 

“They've gotten quite big recently. I reckon this is the last of the growing they'll do. You'll just have to get used to them again and then it's over, yeah?”

 

He frowns a little and reaches back to to run his fingers over the little bit of feather peeking out, trying not to look too tired by this point coming back.

 

“It's never over.” He sighs. “I'm stuck hiding for the rest of my life.”

 

I look over at him and I hope the look on my face is reassuring because I don’t like to see him worried. What he has is so unique and frankly, really fucking cool and I don’t want him to stress about it. There’s a lot of like to say, but my awkward mind can’t get the right words to my mouth.

 

“Well…” I start, feeling sympathetic. I really have no idea how he's managed to deal with not only the physical, but the mental stress of this whole mutation thing. I wish he'd talk to me about it more often. 

 

“The temperature's supposed to drop to about minus one tonight.” I remind him. “Want to go out and try the new holiday drinks at Starbucks?” 

 

I nearly burst out laughing at how quickly his eyes light up, an exhale of relief leaving my lips as I match his smile. 

 

“You idiot.” I giggle. “You and your sugary drinks.” It’s like the mention of artery-clogging beverages are all it takes to bring out a whole new Phil Lester sometimes, the excitement in his expression contagious.

 

“Says Dan toffee-almond-hot chocolate Howell.” He shoots back. “You’re worse than me.”

 

I try not to think too hard about the fact that he knows my holiday order just like that, although I do notice the stutter in my breath as he says it. Yeah, it makes me feel something strange, but I like it. It's a good kind of strange. 

 

“Wear your space coat.” I say, ignoring him and the bit of colour dusting my cheeks. “It’ll match the baubles on all the trees in town.”

 

“What is it with you and coordination.” He laughs, turning on a random show and turning his attention towards the screen. I take a feather between my thumb and finger. 

 

“Aesthetic. What’d you expect?” 

 

“Nothing like matching a random London Christmas tree.” 

 

I'm not really interested in whatever is playing anymore. Instead, I immerse myself in the sound of Phil's short breaths and the smell of his wings, recently washed and soft to the touch. I almost wish he would open his wings now so the scent and sight would surround me, but at the same time I’m now thinking almost entirely of Starbucks. I’m also thinking of Phil, though.

 

I want him to be happy. That's all I've ever wanted for him. 

 

~~~

 

Once evening falls we're already making our way towards the nearest Starbucks, gloved hands pinching our coats and holding them close to our chests. I have my curls pulled back into a woolly hat that Phil’s aunt knit me one Christmas, Phil has his wings tucked into the shiny space coat as promised. The pavement is a bit icy and the buildings are strung with lights, fulfilling my desire to be out and surrounded by festive things. The drinks are next. I can’t decide if I’m cold or used to the wintry air by this point, the numbness on my cheeks contradicting the warmness of the rest of my bundled form.

 

“I wish it was snowing right now.” Phil announces, reaching for the door and holding it open for me to step in. 

 

A sudden image emerges in my mind. Phil, wings free and hair dusted in powdered snow, staring at the sky with eyes so full of delight and joy, flying under the stars in the open wintry air. Content, beautiful, and free. 

 

“Me too.” I respond simply, shaking the thought away. Not for the first time, I’m eternally grateful that Phil’s mutation is beautiful wings and not mind reading. I’m not even sure that’s a mutation that exists at all, but I don't care. I love his wings and everything about him, and I just wish he could see that.

 

It's become a habit of mine to keep my coat on, even in the most heated of buildings. Phil doesn't have the option to take his off for obvious reasons, so I keep mine on as well to make him feel less like an outcast. If worse comes to it there’s an outdoor seating area, it’s always very pleasing to sit under drifting snow with a warm drink. 

 

The line is short, so in no time we have our drinks.

 

“Really, Dan?” Phil giggles, pointing at my drink as we start heading for the door to enjoy our treats outside in the chilly air. “A hot chocolate? Where's the festivity?”

 

I grin, gasping playfully and pretending as if I were shocked. “How  _ dare _ you. Hot chocolate is a classic holiday drink, thank you very much.” 

 

I’m already planning on pointing out that my hot chocolate also happens to be the peppermint cocoa one, meaning it technically counts as a candy cane themed drink but Phil’s getting jokingly passionate, speaking before I get the chance to.

 

“You didn't even get marshmallows though!” He points out, and I want to say something else sarcastic, but as soon as I open my mouth to speak, Phil goes to push on the door and is shoved aside by someone who enters angrily. 

 

“Hey!” I shout after them, furious that this person think they can just push Phil around like that. The man doesn’t even answer, striding right past me so deliberately I open my mouth to yell at him again.

 

Phil whispers a quite ‘come on Dan, lets just go’ but I'm not hearing him. Not until the man is followed by more just like him, and I see why they're all holding. That's when I start to get a bad feeling.

 

Guns. 

 

These must be people from the government, guns are illegal. I back up into Phil, grabbing him from behind me protectively and making sure I'm in front of him, pushing him out of view. It’s an automatic response because of who he is to me but also because there’s very few reasons why the authorities ever show up out of nowhere, and I don’t want to believe that it’s true.

 

Because Phil is a mutant, because we worry a lot. There’s a reason he can’t fly through the sky under the falling snow like I'd just imagined him doing, why he had to hide this marvelous thing about him.

 

Because there has been rumour, ever since mutants became known to the public. There had been rumour that one day they'd be taken away.

 

Phil leans in, his voice a whisper.

 

_ “That doesn't look good.”  _

 

It’s like a punch to the abdomen. They haven’t looked at us yet nor directly threatened us in any way, yet I feel that inexplicable feeling that I always do when there’s authority around, like I’ve done something wrong. 

 

There’s five or six of them, raising their weapons and shouting something to the startled baristas and café customers, my heart jolting when a gun points in my direction. My throat goes dry and it seems all-too convenient when I’ve decided to take Phil out of the house for the first time in days, though that thought could just be my own anxiety.

 

_ They don’t know anything.  _ I remind myself frantically.  _ They’re not mind readers, they don’t know about Phil and they won’t know anything unless I say something. _

 

This thought weakens when I turn back to Phil and see his face has gone white, his eyes round and frightened.

 

The logical side of my brain doesn't ease my nerves because they're the government. They could know anything. Even if they don't, my shaking is surely to give us away if we don't get out of here sooner or later. I have no way of knowing the difference.

 

I watch, frozen in fear as one of them yells at a young woman to move, shutting her laptop and grabbing her by the collar when she doesn't comply out of confusion. She must be a university student, barely even twenty and so harmless looking it’s frightening to watch. She cries out when they rip off her coat, forcing her to raise her arms.

 

The growl the man holding her makes when he sees there is nothing unusual about her is evident and can be heard across the room. 

 

“Search them all.” He snaps suddenly. “Don't let anyone leave until we find the mutant.” 

 

They force people to their knees and spread out. I know we have to get out of here now, before Phil is found out and taken away.

 

Our backs are still braced against the cold glass of the door and I get an impulse suddenly. A crazy, probably stupid impulse.

 

“Phil!” I whisper-shout. “Door. Now!” 

 

We manage to sneak by before someone is sent to guard the door, trying to act as casual as possible once we're outside, as if we didn't just come from the starbucks and we had just been passing by. Cold air gusts past my collar but I ignore it completely, barely able to breathe and expecting to be caught any second.

 

I take Phil's hand, pulling him along as a reminder that he's still right next to me, and not in that hands of the government. I take a deep breath and feel a jump in my heartbeat when his hand tightens in mine, the nearly-empty London streets dark and peaceful, deceptive to the chaos inside.

 

As soon as we're past the windows and out of sight, we run. 

 

Adrenaline takes over as the panic sets in, thoughts of them finding Phil making my mind blank and focus only on one thing: running and hiding.

 

_ So they’re doing raids.  _ I think angrily.  _ The government is going after mutants. _

 

I don’t even know why I’m angry, it’s a mixture of terror and distress and the disjointedness that comes with having your security shattered in an instant. The fearful face of the young woman burns in my memory, my thoughts unhelpfully substituting Phil in her place. 

 

I can see it now. Unforgiving government agents snatching my best friend up from his feet and tearing off his coat the same way I saw them do before, seeing his elegant wings and only seeing a threat. The elegant feathers spreading and shimmering in the light, condemning him completely. I see them taking him away from me, dragging him away against his will, never to be seen again.

 

It’s several blocks before I even manage to think rationally, too afraid to even look behind us. I just run, never once letting go of Phil.

 

Tears roll down my cheeks as we begin to gasp for air and our run turns to a jog. We've made it to our building, but I'm so out of breath that I have to lean against the wall, near-collapsing against the brickwork next to the front entryway. The road is as busy as always and the headlights of rapidly passing car headlights cast harsh shadows on Phil’s face, still ashen from before.

 

My thoughts are spinning, my lungs burn as I feel the icy evening air flood my lungs, almost painful with the sharpness.

 

I hold my arms out and Phil takes the hint, falling into them and letting me hug him in disbelief. It’s then that I realize he’s shaking hard, breaths far too fast because he’s in shock.

 

“It’s okay, it's okay.” I mumble in slurred breaths. “You're okay.” 

 

His expression is so scared it almost hurts to look at. I so desperately want to protect him, it’s suddenly all I can process.

 

I can feel him shivering now, water dripping from the icicles above us and into our messy hair, down our clothes and soaking us. He buries his face in my neck and can feel his tears coating my skin there, a sob bursting from abruptly as the situation slams into us. We’re both disheveled from running and freezing from the shock, pressing against each other like we'll be torn apart at any second. 

 

It all happened so fast, we’ve barely had time to fully feel the impact of the situation.

 

We share heavy breaths as I stare down at him, lifting a hand in his dark hair and another at the small of his back, holding him as closely as possible, shaking as I do so.

 

It’s not often that I see Phil cry, he tends to contain everything and channel it out silently but this is out of his control. We’d gone from laughing over hot chocolate to running from guns in blinding moments, guns that were after him. He cries into my chest and it feels like a shard in my heart. We can’t even move.

 

The possibility of losing him looms over us dauntingly. My heart is pounding and I’m half expecting to be ambushed any second, more afraid of this ordinary street and what I might not be seeing in it.

 

“Why?” Phil pleads in a choked gasp. “Why!?”

 

“ _ Phil _ .” I get out. 

 

I don’t know what to do. I feel useless. If I’m scared then he must be fucking terrified. It's him they're after.

 

He squeezes me so tightly I can feel every rapid beat of his heart, neither of us really sure what is happening.

 

“We need to get inside.” I say frantically, lifting him and myself up from the wall and stumbling towards the door of our building. My hands are shaking so hard I fumble turning the doorknob to the staircase, Phil’s breaths a ragged soundtrack beside me. It gives eventually and we all but stumble in, slamming the door behind us. Compared to whatever’s out there, a neighbor’s noise complaint means nothing.

 

We make it up the few flights of stairs as quickly as possible, trying not to make it obvious to our neighbours that we're running from something. As soon as we make it inside the flat I push him in first and then bolt the door, fumbling in my pockets for my phone.

 

“I’m gonna go check the news and see if anything’s gone up about raids. You go close the curtains. We have to pretend we’re not home.”

 

“Dan.” He gasps, and it’s clear that he’s panicking.

 

“We need to lock the door and distract ourselves for a bit.” I tell him. “Put on a different jumper, one without holes. If someone comes to the door you hide in the storage cupboard, got it?”

 

I can still see the tear tracks on his skin and the hollow expression on his when he nods. He quickly removes his coat and current sweater, pulling them off and tossing them in the wash. He then disappears to his room.

 

While he’s gone I shut the blinds closest to me and turn to the first news channel I can find, sitting back and watching in shock.

 

It's true, the government is doing raids. Several are actually, in a bunch of different countries. The representative currently speaking on the screen reasons that mutations are a biohazard and a danger to the general public with “contagious potential viral genetic properties” which I immediately know is bullshit, it’s a lie being spoken directly to induce panic in the general population, to turn everyone against human beings who've done nothing wrong. 

 

I feel my heart drop. There's nowhere we can go without being hunted down. 

 

They say it's  _ for the best _ that they be taken away. They say they're going to find the cause and eliminate that danger, which only means one thing. 

 

If Phil's taken away, he'll be government property. He'll be treated like an animal, experimented on, and probably even tortured if these people decide to take it that far. It feels like I’ve fallen into a bad movie, like something out of the Middle Ages. My heart aches for him, the pictures in my mind of these thing happening to him haunting me.

 

I open Twitter to find  _ mutations  _ is a trending topic, sitting in my feed amongst all of today’s @-mentions aimed at Phil and I asking when Phil is going live. 

 

The liveshow. I hadn’t even thought about the timing, nor the fact that it’s nearly 9pm and today is a Thursday. We had tweeted earlier saying we had a big holiday beverage review in store, but we never even got the chance to drink them. How do we even go about this when we're technically on the run.

 

The government doesn't know about us yet, but I'm not about to bloody go live on the internet. We'll be asked questions, our audience will find out fast and we'll be tracked down by the government faster. My eyes scan over the messages, not sure which would be more suspicious, going live or suddenly cancelling and not going live at all.

 

@sillychillyphilly _ : smh where r u @Amazingphil we miss u _ :(

 

@moonlighthowell:  _ you guys are late again xD jk we love you and want you to take care of yourselves _

 

@floraldnp:  _ @danielhowell @Amazingphil are you guys still doing the liveshow? _

 

When a few minutes pass I suddenly realize how long I’ve been scrolling, aware that Phil hasn’t returned yet. I don’t even think, panic shoots through me and I’m suddenly wondering if I’ll never see him again. I drop my phone and lurch to my feet, frozen in place as my heart pounds.

 

“PHIL!”

 

I drop my iPhone and dart towards the stairs, stopping in my tracks at the bottom of the steps when I see him at the top, alert, but unharmed. 

 

He practically falls down the steps to get to me, seeing my expression and tripping in typical Phil fashion in his haste. His eyes are wide, worried that something's happened when my mind is too blank to say anything to him. Instead of explaining, I just pull him I to my arms and burst into tears.

 

“Dan, Dan..” Phil whispers, running his fingers through my hair. I can tell he realized what went through my head just then. “I'm right here, I promise. I'm not going anywhere.”

 

I just continue to cry, words harshly cutting through choked sobs. “’m s-sorry.” I babble, unable to form a proper sentence “s-scared”

 

“Shhhh” Is all I hear, but Phil's voice plays faintly in my ears and is drowned out by my own cries. Every time I take a deep breath my ears clog just a bit more. 

 

My breaths fall out in hyperventilated gasps as I try to speak more clearly. “I- we won't let them hurt you.” 

 

“I’m sorry.” He blurts. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

 

“S'not your fault.” I mumble, rubbing my hands over his back. I can feel the shape of his wings beneath my fingers where my hands run over his shoulders, making a lump form in my throat for whatever reason. “M’just paranoid. I got distracted and you took too long.”

 

My words are still slurred and messy even when I'm trying my hardest to calm down. I can't protect Phil if I don't have my shit together and if this is what five uncertain moments apart will do to me then I’m terrified of the moment I’ll have to leave him in the house alone. Nothing like a psychotic government to make your realize how much someone actually means to you. I feel like I haven’t done enough, said enough to make him aware of how much I feel for him, how much seeing him hurt hurts me.

 

Phil lifts my head from his tear-soaked chest and tilts my chin up with his index finger, his eyes full of fear and sorrow but also bright with a reassurance I couldn't find in anyone else.

 

We’re stunned into silence, my broken hiccups barely audible anymore as I fall victim to his mesmerizing gaze, suddenly overwhelmed with appreciation and gratitude.

 

He’s still here. It’s supposed to be small but it feels massive, like he’d just barely missed being snatched from his own bedroom by mutant hunters or something. He’s so soft, so beautiful and gentle, I don’t understand how anyone could want him hurt. I don’t think he’s dangerous, he’s wonderful. Of course he is.

 

_ You’re… wonderful.  _ I think hazily.  _ I’m so, so scared of losing you. _

 

I want to say it to him. My heart is pounding. I just stare. There’s a look in his eyes. It’s like he’s thinking the same thing.

 

“I-I-” is all I manage to get out before he's kissing me, and then I’m not thinking at all.

 

It's unexpected, it's out of the blue, it's an extraordinary feeling that starts at my lips where they're submerged in warmth and care and spreads through my body, deep within my veins where the blood rushes to my face and my skin tingles. 

 

It takes a few moments for my mind to catch up to me. As soon as it hits me what’s happening I lift a hand to his cheek and pull him closer, kissing back gently and feeling something in the pit of my chest, a burst of relief and adoration. I wrap an arm around his neck and run my fingers over his wings, pressing my lips to his this time.

 

This, I realize, is the reason behind everything I’m really feeling.

 

The panic vanishes. The fears die down a bit. Everything, all of it just dissolves and we’re okay in this moment. It’s soft and it’s new but it feels  _ right _ , so right that it catches me off guard.

 

Phil pulls away, grinning widely. We stare at each other and it only takes two seconds, then he's wrapping his wings around me as I throw my other arm around his neck and lean in again. The kiss is full of passion and a longing for something both of us have needed for a while, no matter if we realized it or not and I let it happen, right there in the darkness of our stairwell.

 

Phil pulls me closer by my waist. I tilt my head back just a little to look down at his expression, something about the wings surrounding both of us making me feel sheltered and safe. To some degree I still can’t believe what’s happening and so I stare at his pink cheeks and mischievous eyes even though my heart is racing for a different reason now and I have no idea what to do with my eyes or my hands, my thoughts overridden by bliss.

 

Our lips never really separate for the next minute or so. We just kiss, and we keep kissing. 

 

That's when I lean too far forward, pressing into him and sending us both flying down towards the stairs. I roll on top of him and press my fingers to his cheek, planting one more peck on his lips for good measure.

 

“Still here.” He says against my lips.

 

_ Yeah,  _ I think hazily.  _ I hope you stay here. Let’s just stay here forever. _

 

But we can't stay here forever. 

 

“Are you okay?” I concern, suddenly aware to his much it must have hurt him to fall on his wings. 

 

“Im fine.” He assures me genuinely. “I'm, I mean, I don't even know what to say.”

 

I let out a breathy exhale, nodding in agreement and resting my chin on his chest, staring at him fondly.

 

Yeah. Me neither. I’m just so fucking happy.

 

We lay there for a while, completely blissed out and bewildered because  _ that actually just happened.  _

 

My head is spinning and it isn’t until I meet his eyes again and ground back reality for a moment that I remember why I’d been thinking about him in the first place, amusement rising up as I recall what I’ve forgotten.

 

“Liveshow.” I blurt, feeling him stop to stare at me confusedly.

 

I see the expression on his face when he remembers, far more focused on the colour on his cheeks.

 

“I tweeted before we left.” I add. “But I can cancel if you-”

 

“Let’s do it then.” He cuts me off. “I need something normal, yeah?” 

 

He helps me stand up from the staircase, fingers brushing the back of my neck and a hand gripping my arm to steady me. 

 

I don’t even know what normal is anymore. That gesture alone is a reminder that none of today has been normal.

 

“Go get your jumper on then, you idiot.” I tease. 

 

He heads back up to his room and I begin to set up the liveshow, making sure all of the blinds and curtains are closed and all the lights are off. Yeah, there will be many questions, but it's not worth risking our safety,  _ Phil's  _ safety. 

 

If we just pretend everything is normal, the it will all be okay. 

 

Phil returns as soon as I've got my laptop set up and a tweet ready. He takes a seat next to me, triple checking his wings to make sure they aren't visible as he always does before we go in camera, then I send out the tweet.

 

So here we are. The show has only started and the snow has picked up, just like Phil has been wishing for earlier. My nerves are on high, my hands are shaking and the kiss replays in my head. 

 

The questions flood in immediately as people join. 

 

And then we see the question.

 

_ Why is it so dark?  _

 

_ Is your power out lol _

 

_ Ajskaka why you guys late again haha _

 

_ You seem on edge, I hope everything is good. _

 

It's not good. It's far from good.

 

This is where we are now, sat on our sofa, flat shrouded in darkness, fear trembling in our hearts that we must keep hidden at all costs.

 

“Sorry about the lighting.” Phil chirps in his usual camera voice, smiling just enough to keep the chat from going into chaos. 

 

“Yeah, we've had quite the night.” I add, trying to quickly come up with a believable explanation. “It's, uh...”

 

“Well you guys probably know what's going on if you've seen the news.” Phil cuts me off, nodding to me briefly to let me know it's fine but tell them this much. “We're just trying to avoid the chaos.”

 

_ I hope you guys stay safe. _

 

We read our lovely, kind messages from people to pass the first few minutes, mostly so I can think about what I'm going to say about what happened at Starbucks. 

 

_ That would be a great title,  _ I think.  _ What happened at Starbucks.  _

 

I need to bend the truth in a way that's believable. My mind is blanking, but eventually I'm able to manage a few words to satisfy the overbearing viewers. 

 

“I know we promised a full length review for you guys, but there was an issue down at the Starbucks and we had to peace before we could get our drinks.”

 

All it took was some hinting at and they immediately knew I was referring to the raids. They don't need to know about how we ran away because we have something to hide, or how it was Phil the government were unknowingly after. 

 

“Everything is fine, don't worry!” Phil assures them, leaning back and throwing up his hands. 

 

I see the smile on his face that betrays the fear that had just been there moments before. I see him at ease, his usual bubbly self, and it make me happy. I start to think we can actually set our worries aside, and that we may be safe after all.

 

But once I start to relax, there's a distant shouting from down the hall, and then the loud rattle of something banging against our front door follows, shaking the walls of the flat and sending all my hopes down the drain.

 

They're here.

 

The noise comes again, it sounds like someone is trying to kick down our door. It comes a few more times until an inaudible shout causes it to freeze and they most likely realize we've prepared for this. 

 

I glance down at the chat. It's a mess of explanation points and questions marks, barely any words can be read in the sea of crying emojis. They know it's them, they're quick to realize things like this. 

 

“Phil. Go hide. Now!” 

 

He complies, darting up the stairs in a mix of tip-toes and running. I know he's going to hide in the storage we have in the gaming room, the least likely place for him to be found. I can only hope he isn't.

 

I forget about our liveshow entirely when the agents finally manage to bust down the door, flooding in like bees and surrounding me, ordering me to my knees with angry shouts and shotguns. 

 

I can't let them know someone else is here with me. All my experience with acting has led up to this. So naturally, when they demand answers and I feel the barrel of a handgun being pressed to the back of my head, I cry. 

 

I never thought it would come to this, being interrogated and broken down in front of my entire audience, but here I am, parting to any god that might exist that they don't find Phil. 

 

“I asked you a question, boy!” The one behind me shouts. “Who else is here with you!?”

 

“I- no one.” I gasp, clasping my hands around the back of my head just as they told me to, hoping compliance will lessen their hostility. Unfortunately, it doesn't. I’m not even thinking about the broadcast. My mind has been wiped clean by fear.

 

Another agent catches sight of my laptop and my heart drops, but I try with all my power to keep a straight face. They could easily sell Phil out, either a troll in the chat or someone who isn't aware of the severity in this situation. All it takes is one comment reading “someone else is in the house.”

 

“What is this, live on camera? What are you up to?” He sneers, staring at the screen, most likely reading the endless stream of confusion and questions.

 

“It's a thing I do, for a living.” I explain quickly. “I-I'm an internet personality, was just in the middle of-”

 

“Enough.” He groans, turning back to face me. “I guess if you're famous I can easily find out if anyone else is in the house.”

 

“I’m just doing my regular stream because I’m home alone.” I invent wildly. “My audience-”

 

“You do have a flatmate, don't you?”

 

I feel panic rising in my chest.

 

“I do, he's just not here.” I lie smoothly. “He sent out for coffee.” 

 

“Where!”

 

The voice sends shivers throughout my body. “I-I, Starbucks, I think?”

 

“When will he be back?”

 

“Not sure, he mentioned he might do some Christmas shopping as well, but I don't know-”

 

“Damnit! Just tell us when!”

 

“I don't know!?” I cry dramatically for affect. The key to a good lie is a simple backstory. 

 

“We're going to have to search your flat, mate.”

 

My heart drops.

 

“Wh-why? You don't have the right!”

 

I'm far too panicked at this point to try and talk them out of it. It could be too obvious.

 

“You got something to hide, boy?” He asks rhetorically, and with that, he's gone. Two men behind my drag me along with them by my arms. 

 

I'm forced to watch ad they decimate our rooms, turning furniture upside down and drawers inside out. I can only hang limply, shaking as they make their way closer and closer to the gaming room.

 

Then they're inside, and I can see what they're doing.

 

First they scoff at how ridiculous it looks, but then they immediately start searching. 

 

There isn't much to look through. They look under the desk and begun to open each cabinet, slamming each shut before going to the next. That's when it hits me, we aren't getting out of this.

 

I have no clue which one Phil is in, so I'm on edge as they open each door and move on to the next, waiting for the one that will inevitably have Phil hiding inside, scared for his life. 

 

Then they get to the last one, and of course when they open it, there's a shivering body inside, too half obscured by the onslaught of onesies inside. 

 

It’s like for a split second, time slows. If the moment weren’t so serious it could have been funny maybe, the way my best friend is tucked in barely visible between so many soft forms. The expression on the officer’s face is equal parts stunned and perplexed, at least until he seems to register what he’s seeing.

 

The next thing he says sends a shockwave through my limbs and cuts right through my heart.

 

“I've gotta hand it to you, kid. You almost had me fooled there.” 

 

“No…” I gasp, a choked sob cutting through the air as they reach for him. “No!” 

 

I lurch forward without really thinking through anything but arms shoot out to push me back, my hand swiping through empty air inches away from Phil. I feel a heavy grip on my arm, yanking me backwards so hard I stumble.

 

He cries in fear when he's dragged out of the wardrobe, tripping over  and clothes struggling against the hold on his arms, same as me. 

 

We're brought back down stairs and thrown to the ground. At first I'm confused, at least until I see them hiding Phil down in the corner of my vision and tearing off his jumper, revealing the silky wings beneath, tucked tightly again this back and visibly trembling.

 

No.

 

“Get your hands off of him!” I cry.

 

One man reaches for Phil and he jerks back out of reflex, his wings opening so abruptly there’s a gust of wind and they catch the corner of the shelf by the door, knickknacks scattering to the floor. The clattering sound adds to the chaos, the men around us crying out in shock at the abrupt eruption of motion.

 

“Let me go!” Phil screeches. 

 

“He  _ is  _ a mutant!” The officer booms. “We got another one, boys.” 

 

I see Phil pull against the hands trying to push him back down to the ground. The hallway is far too narrow for his wings to spread and they propel him forward with every reflexive flutter, distracting the men just long enough for me to stagger to my feet.

 

My chest fills with panic and only now do I remember the camera, the livestream.

 

Phil’s secret. They want to take him away just because of his gift, because of fake media claims that he could hurt someone. I stumble back and grab for him blindly, finding his hand and pulling him back, away from the men in our stairwell by a few steps. The follow and it’s clear we’re being backed into a corner, caught between the divide between our bedroom doors and the wall.

 

“Restrain him! Both of them!” I hear. “Don't let them get away.”

 

“No!” I scream whilst still being pushed against the carpet, watching as Phil is pushed down and his hands are tied behind his back under his wings by plastic ties. 

 

They then continue to go to extra measures to make sure he can't escape, securing his wings to his back with rope. The toss him around like he's an animal. He gasps in pain when he lands in his back, most likely from the pressure on his wings. I can’t do anything but watch, pinned back by both arms.

 

My breath catches in my throat. “Stop! You can't take him from me!”

 

“He’s dangerous to you,” one man says flatly. “We’re neutralizing a threat.”

 

He sounds like he’s speaking about a dangerous specimen rather than a human being. Phil’s form is splayed on the carpet with a pained tension in his limbs, fragile and harmless in every imaginable way. The statement is so wrong it’s  _ obvious.  _ I want to scream, so I do.

 

“He's lived with me for six years!” I wail. “He wouldn't hurt a fly! He's done nothing wrong!”

 

“He's a threat to society that needs to be conta-”

 

“He's a human  _ being _ !” 

 

The room falls silent. The words ring out and echo in the empty air, a dangerous silence.

 

The officer who had held him back in the first place glares at me, look dark.

 

“He’s a  _ mutant. _ ” He spits. “And you are resisting an officer. Would you like to be arrested for harbouring a fugitive, because we can make that happen.”

 

“ _ Phil.”  _ I gasp, ignoring the officer and meeting his fearful eyes. It hurts to see him so distressed when just earlier he’d looked into my eyes with the softest expression imaginable.

 

He's crying, tears shining across his cheeks, streaming at an angle where his face is pressed into the ground. 

 

“Don’t fight them, Dan.” He says weakly. “Please, they’ll hurt you.”

 

“What about you!?” I whisper shout. “The things they'll do to you are so much worse.”

 

“You’ve got that right.” One of the other officers chuckles, a stout man that had been fairly stoic and silent up until now. “Serves him right, though. He’s not a person, he doesn’t belong among the people on London’s streets. He belongs in a cage, like the animal he is.”

 

I stare at him, looking up into his unfamiliar dark eyes with all the feelings injustice I can muster in one expression.

 

“He’s human.” I repeat. “He’s more fucking human than you ever will be.”

 

He scoffs. “Whatever, kid. we're taking you both in.”

 

I physically shiver at what that implies. They're taking us both. We're never going to see each other or our lives ever again. This is all just streaming live on YouTube, probably only now becoming a lot more than just screenshots and confused viewers.

 

The officer behind me nudges my back, making me turn my head.

 

“Might wanna inform your _audience._.” He suggests with a sneer. “Go on, tell them who you and your boyfriend really are.

 

“He's no-” I immediately stop myself, turning and facing the laptop, where I can still see the screen drowning in angry comments directed towards the officers. 

 

I remember what happened just before we started this liveshow. Phil  _ kissed  _ me. I sigh, falling limp in the hands of the man holding me back because I'm so fucking  _ lost  _ and  _ terrified.  _ What happened between Phil and I, that means so many things. It means missed opportunity, it means means years of denial wasted, it means...it means my best friend and I are in love, and now it's too late. 

 

“I…” my voice trails off.

 

“What you're doing, you won't get away with.” I realize, lifting my head up and letting my eyes go dark and slim with fury. “You'll be stopped, eventually. No one buys your ‘danger to society’ excuse because it's all bullshit!”

 

There's a beast inside of me that I've never felt before, and I feel an urge I never knew I could. I want to make them pay, in any sense of the word, they've barely done anything besides threaten us and I already want revenge. 

 

“This is all for greed and power.” I point out, pulling against the hold. “You know damn well they won't survive the thing you're planning to do to them. This is genocide!” 

 

When they hear that word, I'm thrown to the ground. I hear Phil squeak in fear and try to take the split second of free fall to get away but the officer grabs my leg and flips me over, twisting it painfully.

 

“Dan!” I hear Phil gasp. 

 

“Fuck!” I spit, hissing at the pain. If anything, my ankle is at least sprained, but I'm almost positive my leg's been twisted, if not broken by the impact of being shoved to the ground and the pressure applied there only making matters worse.

 

A heavy hand presses down on my back, angered breaths ghosting over my neck as I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out the pain. I can see other feet gathering through my half-obscured vision as one of the men pins me, about to punish me likely for my choice of words. I don’t even try to move this time, trying not to move my injured ankle and bracing for the inevitable pain for my defiant words.

 

“That’s  _ enough _ !” I hear suddenly.

 

My vision goes dark and I can hear Phil screaming at them to stop but I can only focus on the pain and the anger, both a dangerous fire inside me. 

 

They grab me, the pain almost too much to handle. That's when there's a noise, then a pause.

 

The world stands still for three seconds.

 

I open my eyes and see the wide eyes of the officer all turning to face the front door of our apartment, the one they broke in through.

 

There's a muffled static-like voice sounding on their radios.

 

A figure, blurry, but very clearly a mutant, speeds right past. 

 

They're followed by most of the officers who had just been focused on us, only leaving their leader to watch us. 

 

“Catch them!” He shouts. “Don't let it get away!”

 

I shuffle backwards slowly, as quietly as possible now that I'm free of the men who'd been holding me back and there are no longer any eyes on me. I have to hold in the cries that fight to escape me when I disturb my bad leg, unwilling to give myself away.

 

Then I see it, an abandoned pocket knife, most likely dropped by someone amidst the chaos.

 

It has to be some kind of karma. It’s definitely not standard for a London police officer to carry a pocketknife which means someone must have just happened to be carrying a personal one of their own, some officer with some kind of sentimental or defensive complex. In any case it’s just lying in the open, the silver glinting just inches from where I am.

 

I grab it without thinking and gesture towards Phil, locking eyes with him and seeing confusion for only a moment. His eyes widen as he gets the message and rolls over to me so I can cut through his restraints. I pull his wrists towards me and it only takes a moment, his wings flutter free as I slide the ropes away and I smile. There's hope in sight. 

 

That is until the remaining officer turns and catches us, diving towards me with a growl and his gun in hand. 

 

I shriek, evading his attack and making sure to shove Phil behind me as I duck to the side. 

 

“You little shit.” He spits. 

 

He goes for me again and I take the opportunity to grab his arm and pull it back, forcing the weapon from his hands. It falls and I catch it mid-air, kicking the man in the leg for good measure, but it barely does anything. He stumbles back out of sheer surprise and glares in disbelief as I back away, still scared out of my mind despite having the advantage.

 

My hands shake as I lift the gun with both arms raised and point it towards him, my trembling fingers closing over the sensitive trigger.

 

“Stay...away!” I manage, making sure Phil is still stood behind me. He pulls me closer to him with his hands gently around my waist but makes no move to stop me. 

 

I’ve never held a gun in my life. The weight of the moment doesn’t miss me and it hits me just how upside-down this moment is, how drastic my actions need to be.

 

“You're trapped, mate.” The agent grins, folding his arms and chuckling. “You've got nowhere to go. May as well give him up now.”

 

Giving him up, letting them win. There's no way that's happening. He must think I'm mad.

 

“Never.” I say under a shuddered breath. 

 

“Would you rather I just force you both?” The man snaps, losing patience. “You’re lucky we’ve even left you conscious. London is clearing out mutants like it or not and that one needs to go. You’re permissing us to harm you by defending it.”

 

The dehumanizing words slam into me and I lose any rational semblance after that. With the other officers distracted this might be our one chance to act, but we have to move quickly.

 

My eyes glance around the room until they land on the nearest window right next to us. We're only a few stories up, this might just be our way out.

 

“Phil.” I mumble, gripping the gun with more confidence and double checking that the agent will make no move onto stop us. “Go open the window.” 

 

He understands immediately what I'm thinking. 

 

“D-dan, I don't know if I can. I mean, I've never tried.” He whispers in my ear, to which I take one of my hand ls from the gun and place it in his, letting him squeeze for support. I don't take my eyes off of the agent, who's starting to catch on to my plan.

 

“Yes you can.” I assure him. “Even if you can't, we aren't too high. You'll be okay. “

 

He doesn’t look convinced, his blue eyes hesitant.

 

“But what about you, Dan? You already have a broken leg.” 

 

I feel a surge of burning in the limb as my attention is directed there, my stance already in a limp to keep the weight off of it. I bite my lip and focus painfully, shifting feet and shaking my head.

 

I keep my voice low and words short.“I'll be fine. This is the only way we're making it out of here.” 

 

That's when he sprints over to the window and opens it. I walk backwards to keep my body in front if his at all times, knowing this guy could have a spare weapon somewhere. You can never be too safe. 

 

His fingers tremble as they push the rusty lick open and press against the foggy glass, easing it open gently and letting in a gust of cold air.

 

He climbs over the windowsill first, sitting on the edge and whimpering when he glances down. He's always been afraid of heights. Ironic, for someone who can literally fly, or hopefully can.

 

Right now, his ability to do so is all we have left to rely on. 

 

Keeping the gun aimed in the same direction, climb over in suit with with and sit in his lap, letting him wrap his arms around me tightly to keep me from sliding off. 

 

_ This is crazy.  _ I think belatedly, glancing for only a moment to the YouNow stream to see it still live, only my legs visible at the camera angle the laptop is still sitting in. Anyone watching will have no idea what happens. From here on people will only be able to speculate.

 

We’re just Youtubers. We’re a pair of best friends with existential crises and secrets, a bit of a love complex and a generally harmless existence. I don’t know what I’m thinking as I look down and process that there’s still a gun in my hand, taking hold of Phil firmly and staring back at the current chaos of our shared familiar home. This isn’t something that happens to us but it’s real, time is ticking down and narrowing our window of time to escape. I’m doing all of this for him, and I think it’s because I love him.

 

It’s definitely crazy, but we still turn in the direction of the icy winter air.

 

“You won't do it.” the agent pipes up behind us. “You wouldn't even shoot me. You're scared.”

 

“That’s an understatement and a half.” Phil mumbles.

 

Yeah, we are, but when Phil's life is put on the line like this I will stop at nothing to protect him, even if it means going to extremes I never knew were possible for a cave dwelling introvert as myself. I know Phil feels the same. I don’t give the man the satisfaction of an answer.

 

The agent starts striding towards us, laughing when I twitch in surprise.

 

“You two are helpless.”

 

“Phil.” I rub my hand over his forearm where it's wrapped around me. “On three, alright?”

 

He nods, turning to face the ground and shivering.

 

The agent takes a few steps closer.

 

“One.”

 

He has an evil grin and a knowing gaze. He knows his frightened we are, almost positive we won't take the jump.

 

“Two.”

 

The gun makes a rattling sound as my hand shakes, doubt in my mind and undeniable fear my heart. 

 

Then the agent makes his move, arm reaching out to take the gun, and I panic.

 

“Three!” I scream, closing my finger and feeling the momentum of the blast as Phil pushes forward and dives into the air with me in his arms. For a split second, I see the expression on the man's face as he crumples forward, eyes as blank as my mind.

 

Then, nothing. 

 

_ Even if it means...going to extremes…. _

 

I just killed a man. 

 

All I feel is two arms holding me close, my back pressed to Phil's chest as we fall. It’s an odd feeling, less like the windy descent of a fall and more the drop of a rollercoaster. It’s heavy and sudden, turning the world into a blur of light, motion and sound that I can only experience, falling too fast to even move my limbs.

 

Then there's a shift in out movement, a pull so drastic I lose my breath and gasp. There's a sound similar to an unfurling kite or a parachute, but I know exactly what it is before I even look.

 

Icy air blasts my face and all around me I see swirling snow, rooftops getting smaller and darker the higher and colder it gets. Below us the streets of London are softly lit, yellow street lamps passing by and intercut by roads that even from here I can see are flickering with coloured Christmas lights, holiday spirit making its mark on a city that looks so different to the sky.

 

I lift my head and gasp in disbelief. We're flying. Phil's actually doing it. 

 

“Oh my god, oh my god! Dan!” Phil cries out, voice finally full of something other than pain. There’s a sound like rushing air and I watch his wings rise and then swoop back down, carrying us along as the feathers ruffle and shimmer in the starlight.

 

“Holy fucking shit..” is all I can manage. 

 

In a turn of events and perspective, I’ve forgotten entirely about taking a man's life. All I can think about is how unbelievable and crazy this all is, how amazing it feels to soar through the air like something out of a storybook. It's a weird mixture of happiness and shock that I feel in the midst of escape and I don't have any regrets anymore. We did it. We actually did it.

 

When I look down I can see the streets illuminated by golden lights, the snow covered buildings belows us as Phil carries me higher and higher into the air.

 

“Don't go too high!” I call, hoping he can hear me over the howling wind. “We don't want to be seen. Head for the trees!”

 

My order comes out serious but I almost want to laugh from the euphoria, the sheer disbelief of the moment as my fingers begin to go numb. It’s hard not to when you feel suspended in space and time, the winter wind rushing all around you. For the small bit of hopeless romantic in me, I’m realizing that this is quite literally what it’s like to to uh the sky.

 

Phil makes a sharp turn and starts heading towards where I'm pointing, his wings lifting up and down in much slower, wider beats and slowing us down to drop in elevation. It seems to come naturally as he lowers his legs and extends them slightly to gently meet the ground, touching us down in a snow-blanketed, unfamiliar part of the city.

 

“Looks like you got the snow you asked for.” I quip, turning my head as far up as I can even though still unable to see his face. I can tell he's smiling though.

 

“Yeah, I did. We did.” 

 

And yes, we certainly did.

 

He ducks his head as we head for the trees, seeking their cover. He slows down to a float, letting us sink to the ground and it looks like we’ve touched down in some park, there’s string lights wrapped around the trunk of a nearby tree and tangled in many of the branches, and most importantly, there are no people in sight. 

 

Phil detaches his arms from around me, allowing me to turn and face him with a sigh.

 

My teeth chatter as I bring my arms in, realizing we're outside at night in the middle if the winter in just our tee shirts. We won't freeze to death, but we're going to have to find us some clothes. But that's the last thing on my mind, because I'm just lost in staring at Phil.

 

I limp towards him, welcoming the wing he wraps around my back, then the other. I fall against him willingly.

 

“Dan, your leg.” He reminds me.

 

“It's fine.” I whisper, bringing a hand to his cheeks he lays us down in the snow dusted grass, leaning against the tree so that he can hold me, securing his wings around bus like a blanket. 

 

“I can't believe that all happened live.” 

 

Phil’s eyes widen and he chuckles slowly. “Oh shit, it did, didn't it?”

 

We laugh, the situation still as bizarre as it was when this all began. 

 

“We made it, Phil.” 

 

He presses a kiss to my hair, resting his chin there and letting me press my face into his neck, seeking out as much warmth as possible. 

 

I finally have the chance to think back and reflect on where we are now. Two normal people, faced with unimaginable dangers, and now on the run after attempting an succeeding at an escape that may have just saved our lives. We have no idea, where to go or what to do next, but we've come this far, I know that much.

 

Even with the uncertainty looming over our crippled form, I'm okay with that. 

 

I wrap my arms around Phil and kiss him gently, letting the air around us warm a bit. Our lips collide softly and pull against each other inna way that says ‘we have nothing to be afraid of right now’.

 

When I open my eyes, he's there, the fear given, replaced with love.

 

I know he feels it. I know he's not afraid.

 

“Yes, we did."

 

~~~

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi to us on tumblr @cozylemonsphanfic or talk to us individually @mad-phannie-christmas (usually lemonheadlester) and @candycanephilly (usually cozydnp)


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